As listening still, Clan-Alpine's lord
Stood leaning on his heavy sword,
Until the page with humble sign
Twice pointed to the sun's decline.
Then while his plaid he round him cast,
'It is the last time 't is the last,'
He muttered thrice, 'the last time e'er
That angel-voice shall Roderick hear!'
It was a goading thought, — his stride
Hied hastier down the mountain-side;
Sullen he flung him in the boat,
An instant 'cross the lake it shot.
They landed in that silvery bay,
And eastward held their hasty way,
Till, with the latest beams of light,
The band arrived on Lanrick height,
Where mustered in the vale below
Clan-Alpine's men in martial show.
Art thou returned from Braes of Doune. By thy keen step and glance I know, Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe.' For while the Fiery Cross hied on, On distant scout had Malise gone. 'Where sleeps the Chief?' the henchman said.
Apart, in yonder misty glade;
To his lone couch I'll be your guide.'-
Then called a slumberer by his side,
And stirred him with his slackened bow, -
Up, up, Glentarkin! rouse thee, ho!
We seek the Chieftain; on the track
Keep eagle watch till I come back.'
Together up the pass they sped: 'What of the foeman ?' Norman said. 'Varying reports from near and far; This certain, that a band of war Has for two days been ready boune, At prompt command to march from Doune;
King James the while, with princely
Ah! well the gallant brute I knew! The choicest of the prey we had When swept our merrymen Gallangad. His hide was snow, his horns were dark, His red eye glowed like fiery spark; So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet, Sore did he cumber our retreat, And kept our stoutest kerns in awe, Even at the pass of Beal 'maha. But steep and flinty was the road, And sharp the hurrying pikeman's goad, And when we came to Dennan's Row A child might scathless stroke his brow.'
'That bull was slain; his reeking hide
They stretched the cataract beside,
Whose waters their wild tumult toss
Adown the black and craggy boss
Of that huge cliff whose ample verge
Tradition calls the Hero's Targe.
Couched on a shelf beneath its brink,
Close where the thundering torrents sink,
Rocking beneath their headlong sway,
And drizzled by the ceaseless spray,
Midst groan of rock and roar of stream,
The wizard waits prophetic dream.
Nor distant rests the Chief; - but hush!
See, gliding slow through mist and bush,
The hermit gains yon rock, and stands
To gaze upon our slumbering bands.
Seems he not, Malise, like a ghost,
And, as they came, with Alpine's Lord
The Hermit Monk held solemn word:-
Roderick! it is a fearful strife,
For man endowed with mortal life,
Whose shroud of sentient clay can still
Feel feverish pang and fainting chill,
Whose eye can stare in stony trance,
Whose hair can rouse like warrior's
lance, -
'T is hard for such to view, unfurled,
The curtain of the future world.
Yet, witness every quaking limb,
My sunken pulse, mine eyeballs dim,
My soul with harrowing anguish torn,
This for my Chieftain have I borne !
The shapes that sought my fearful couch
A human tongue may ne'er avonch;
No mortal man— save he, who, bred
Between the living and the dead,
Is gifted beyond nature's law-
Had e'er survived to say he saw.
At length the fateful answer came
In characters of living flame!
Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll, 130 But borne and branded on my soul: WHICH SPILLS THE FOREMOST FOEMAN'S
With joy return; he will he must. 190
Well was it time to seek afar
Some refuge from impending war,
When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged swarm
Are cowed by the approaching storm.
I saw their boats with many a light,
Floating the livelong yesternight,
Shifting like flashes darted forth
By the red streamers of the north;
I marked at morn how close they ride,
Thick moored by the lone islet's side,
Like wild ducks couching in the fen
When stoops the hawk upon the glen.
Since this rude race dare not abide
The peril on the mainland side,
Shall not thy noble father's care
Some safe retreat for thee prepare?'
'No, Allan, no! Pretext so kind
My wakeful terrors could not blind.
When in such tender tone, yet grave,
Douglas a parting blessing gave,
The tear that glistened in his eye
Drowned not his purpose fixed and high.
My soul, though feminine and weak,
Can image his; e'en as the lake,
Itself disturbed by slightest stroke,
Reflects the invulnerable rock.
He hears report of battle rife,
He deems himself the cause of strife.
I saw him redden when the theme
Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream
Of Malcolm Græme in fetters bound,
Which I, thou saidst, about him wound.
Think'st thou he trowed thine omen aught?
O no! 't was apprehensive thought
For the kind youth,- for Roderick too
Let me be just - that friend so true;
In danger both, and in our cause!
Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause.
Why else that solemn warning given,
"If not on earth, we meet in heaven!" 230
Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane,
If eve return him not again,
Am I to hie and make me known?
Alas! he goes to Scotland's throne,
Buys his friends' safety with his own;
He goes to do what I had done,
Had Douglas' daughter been his son !'
'Nay, lovely Ellen!-dearest, nay! If aught should his return delay,
He only named yon holy fane
As fitting place to meet again.
Be sure he 's safe, and for the Græme,
Heaven's blessing on his gallant name!
My visioned sight may yet prove true,
Nor bode of ill to him or you.
When did my gifted dream beguile?
Think of the stranger at the isle,
And think upon the harpings slow
That presaged this approaching woe!
Sooth was my prophecy of fear;
Believe it when it augurs cheer.
Would we had left this dismal spot!
Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot.
Of such a wondrous tale I know
Dear lady, change that look of woe,
My harp was wont thy grief to cheer.'
'Well, be it as thou wilt; I hear, But cannot stop the bursting tear.' The Minstrel tried his simple art, But distant far was Ellen's heart.
Merry it is in the good greenwood,
When the mavis and merle are singing, When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds
And the hunter's horn is ringing.
'O Alice Brand, my native land
Is lost for love of you;
And we must hold by wood and wold,
As outlaws wont to do.
O Alice, 't was all for thy locks so bright,
And 't was all for thine eyes so blue, 270
That on the night of our luckless flight
Thy brother bold I slew.
'Now must I teach to hew the beech
The hand that held the glaive,
For leaves to spread our lowly bed,
And stakes to fence our cave.
And for vest of pall, thy fingers small,
That wont on harp to stray,
A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer,
To keep the cold away.'
'O stranger! in such hour of fear What evil hap has brought thee here?' 'An evil hap how can it be
That bids me look again on thee?
By promise bound, my former guide
Met me betimes this morning-tide,
And marshalled over bank and bourne
The happy path of my return.'
The happy path! what! said he
nought
Of war, of battle to be fought,
Of guarded pass?' 'No, by my faith!
Nor saw I aught could angur scathe.'
'O haste thee, Allan, to the kern:
Yonder his tartans I discern;
Learn thou his purpose, and conjure
That he will guide the stranger sure!
What prompted thee, unhappy man?
The meanest serf in Roderick's clan
Had not been bribed, by love or fear,
Unknown to him to guide thee here.'
'Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be, Since it is worthy care from thee; Yet life I hold but idle breath
When love or honor 's weighed with death
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